I can tell how tall someone is by where their voice is coming from, Kent told me. I'm pretty good at it.

To prove his point, he turned my way and said, You're 5-11. He's right.

Kent Parker

I could also tell the bills weren't 20s, he added. Just by their feel.

Ones get more use. They feel soft. A 20 remains crisp.

Kent felt his customer was up to something.

When they're trying to pull something over on you, their voice gets higher. They speak in short sentences. They giggle. They're nervous.

As soon as they think they've gotten away with it  I'm taking the bill and starting to pull out change  they come up with all kinds of polite thank-yous.

Today marks the one-month anniversary of Kent getting ripped off. I stopped by his ground-floor deli to see how he was holding up. Is he soured on human nature? Or, does he still have faith in humanity? After all, robbing a blind man is pretty low.

I hear that from a lot of people who come in here, Kent said.

My customers are my friends. They look out for me.

But, I'm not naive enough to think that everybody who comes in here is going to be honest.

Since buying the deli in 1999, he's had customers cheat him like this about eight times a year.

That's how he's been able to study their tone of voice. That's how he was able to alert authorities when he heard the accused man in his shop for a second time.

Mario Riep had a reason for being in the courthouse. He was performing court-ordered community service shuttling documents between courtrooms.

Apparently, the work made him thirsty. He went into the deli to buy an orange drink. He allegedly gave Kent a $1, but told him it was a 20. Not once but twice.

The courthouse is a terrible place to commit a crime. It's a known hangout for cops and sheriff's deputies.

Kent does community service, too. He holds down a job. He works long hours. He obeys the law. He doesn't rob blind men. He serves the community by being a good citizen.

He has also had worse happen to him.

In 1991 or '92  I've blanked it out of my memory because it was so horrible  I lost my sight and my job. And my wife left me and took our child with her. All within a matter of months.

So, in the scheme of things, being passed a one and told it's a 20 is not the end of the world.

Kent takes an equally balanced view toward the accused thief.

If convicted, Mario Riep could receive a one-year jail term for each of the two counts he faces.

I wouldn't mind seeing him do a week behind bars, Kent said.

Something that's long enough to teach him a lesson.

A week seems like a light sentence. Two years? A bit extreme.

Let's split the difference.

If the accused is found guilty, he should be sentenced to community service for a year.

Make him scrub the floor at Kent's deli.

With his eyes shut.

Columnist Cliff Radel can be reached at 768-8379; e-mail cradel@enquirer.com.